


The Language of Flowers

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 03:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: Fill for the prompt: "Kylo giving Hux flowers and Hux pretending to hate it, but secretly he presses and keeps every single one."





	The Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> With the possible implosion of Tumblr near, I thought I would preserve a couple of stories that were only posted there. This one was at the already-defunct group kyluxsoftkinks, June 2016.

The Gambezians are a humanoid species, in that they are basically symmetrical with two arms, two legs and one head. That's as far as the resemblance goes. They're covered in thick pinkish fur, and their three saucer-sized eyes—always yellow—encircle a long, narrow snout with a tiny blue mouth at the end. Hux is repulsed by them, Ren can tell. Ren lounges against the wall, watching the warmonger General try his hand at diplomacy.

“What I'm saying, Venerated Elder Bashaan,” Hux says, his clipped voice strained, “is that sharing your planet's resources with the First Order would be nothing but mutually beneficial. In fact...”

“You speak eloquently, bar'harik.” The holographic image freezes and rolls.

“Unamo, reestablish that link, ASAP. And what did she call me?” Hux looks over his shoulder. “Mitaka, look it up.”

“No need.” Ren breaks in. He can't help smirking, even though no one can see his face. “It's an endearment. You should be quite flattered, General, apparently the Venerated Elder has taken a liking to you.” He steps away from the wall and stalks over to Hux, who is standing in full uniform in front of the projector.

Hux presses his lips into a tight, white line. “I didn't realize you were so familiar with the Gambezian language and culture. You should have said something earlier.”

“What would have been the fun in that?” Ren isn't familiar with it at all, not really. He only knows the term because Han Solo said it to Leia Organa, at times, something the scoundrel must have picked up skulking around the backwaters of the galaxy. Ren walks up to Hux, stepping so near he can feel the heat from the man's body. He leans in, his mask nearly touching the General's pale face, and murmurs, “It means my beautiful flower.” Hux flushes red. It's the funniest thing Ren's seen in years.

So funny, that it comes back to him the next time he's on a mission. As Ren heads for his shuttle, the blood of several beings soaking his clothing and the sweat of battle sticking his hair to his forehead, he glimpses a little orange flower poking its head out of a crack in the bulbous volcanic rock beneath him. Ren plucks it deftly, and holds it in his large glove until he arrives back on the Finalizer.

Hux is waiting in the hangar when Ren's shuttle docks. “Lord Ren,” Hux says, more polite than usual. That's what success nets him, Ren supposes. “I await your report.”

“All is well, bar'harik.” Ren presses the flower into Hux's hand. Hux blinks, staring as if it might attack him. Then, as realization dawns, he rolls his eyes and crushes the flower in his hand.

“Your report, Ren.”

“In due time, General.” Ren saunters out of the hangar, grinning behind his mask.

After that, there's no stopping him. Every time Ren returns to the ship, he brings at least one flower for Hux, even if he has to purchase it himself. Sometimes, it's a bouquet. Every time, Hux becomes more exasperated, and every time, Ren finds it even funnier than the time before. It becomes a routine, a tradition between them, one which Ren feels compelled to continue even after Hux begins holding out his hand for the hated flowers whenever Ren arrives home.

There are no flowers on Starkiller Base. There aren't any at Snoke's fortress, either. Ren comes back to the Finalizer after eight standard months away, his scars as healed as they will ever be and his right arm improved, but still useless when it comes to wielding the lightsaber. He has become left-handed by necessity, but it still feels wrong, each awkward movement reminding him of what he has lost.

Hux is not in the hangar to greet Ren. He's not on the bridge, either. Ren makes his way to his own quarters, or what had been his. They're untouched, as if he never left. It's there, some time later, that Ren hears a knock on the door.

“You're back.” Hux's voice is cool, but there's an expression in his eyes Ren hasn't seen before. Relief? “And you're not wearing your mask.”

“I think my face is intimidating enough these days. Don't you?”

Hux doesn't say anything. He steps into the room, letting the door shut behind him. Ren doesn't move, holding his position as Hux comes closer. He reaches out to rest a hand on Ren's shoulder. “Where's my flower, you bastard?”

Thanks to the Force, Ren senses what Hux is going to do a moment before he does it. It gives him chance to prepare. When Hux puts his other hand on Ren's ruined face, Ren sweeps him into his arms, and when Hux gently touches his lips to Ren's, Ren turns it into a wet, desperate kiss that suits both of them much better.

***

There's a thick book on the desk in Hux's quarters. A real book, with paper pages, bound in leather. Ren hasn't seen one in years. One night, after they've done what in a very short space of time has become second nature to them both, Ren leaves Hux asleep in his bed and goes over to look at it.

It's some boring technical manual, full of incomprehensible schematics and scientific formulas in minuscule print. Ren should have expected as much. He's about to shut it again when something flutters to the floor. Bending to pick it up, Ren realizes its a little orange flower, the petals a little creased, pressed flat. He slides it back into the book, then gently turns the page. He turns another, and another. He finds a white flower, and a blue one, a round pink one and a shimmering, iridescent purple one. They're all there, flattened and preserved; every flower Ren has ever given Hux as a joke.

Or at least the old Ren, the one who hadn't been struck down by the scavenger, believed it was a joke. The new Ren is more self-aware. He harbours no such delusions. Apparently, Hux doesn't, either. He never did. Ren smiles as he shuts the book and climbs back into the bed, fitting himself behind Hux. One arm falls naturally over Hux's waist, as if he was made to be there. _Bar'harik_ , Ren thinks, smiling, and he lets himself drift off to sleep.


End file.
